All In The Game
by Dark OriginVTX
Summary: The world is a dangerous place, wrought with violence, rage and aggression. Some accept this, become victims of the environment, others stand, seek to make a difference. This is the roll of an Auror, a protector of peace. AU Story, Harmony, H/Hr, Martial Arts, Muggle Duelling, Violence, Please Review.
1. Chapter 1

_**All in the Game**_

_**By – Dark OriginVTX**_

_**Authors Note – Welcome Fan Fiction universe to a brand new AU story. Please note that this story will focus greatly with the Muggle art of Duelling and Muggle self-defence. The inspiration of the style of self-defence I describe comes from many MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) techniques united with Urban Krav Maga. Please note that this is a story designed for fun and entertainment, the techniques I describe are not to be implemented in the real world. If you are interested in the style or techniques I describe, please locate a licenced instructor for proper tuition.**_

_**Thank you and please enjoy. **_

_**Chapter One – Urban Combat**_

The wall beneath her foot was solid, stable footing allowing the young warrior enough stability, foundation and strength to hoist her body into the air with the momentum from her legs. Hermione Jean Granger soared through the air, her body arching to avoid the trajectory of a stunning spell, her right hand primed, fist bared ready to strike.

Hermione launched herself into a mid-air superman punch, a technique sired from her many hours duelling with her coach, friend and mentor within the iron cage of his training dungeon. The strength of her blow was devastating, the wizard before her stood helpless, untrained in the art of Muggle duelling, his flinch reflex sloppy, instinctive, useless. Hermione fist connected straight on with the side of her foes face, breaking through his guard with ease.

The wizards cheek suppressed, blood erupted from his mouth in a streak of crimson spit; the wizard willowed; his legs unstable, rocked by the sheer impact of the blow. His wand clattered from his hand as his grip slackened.

Taking advantage of her opponent's stunned frame, Hermione shot in low, collided her shoulder into the abdomen of her foe, her hands hooking him about the underside of his knees, drawing him into a vicious double leg takedown. The wizard lost his footing, his legs swept completely from beneath him; drawing upon her ground game Hermione straddled his chest, gained the advantage as she lifted herself into a ground and pound position. Drawing back her fist, Hermione smashed her right hand down into the face of her foe in a brutal hammer blow.

The nose of the wizard erupted in a splatter of flesh, the crack of broken cartilage, the air erupting in a spray of blood. Hermione drew upon her ground game, slamming her left fist down, driving the blow it deep into the side of her opponents face, hips snapping, fist drilling forward to increase power. The wizards head bounced back off the concrete floor, his body slacked, limped, collapsed into unconsciousness. The sound of a siren stalled Hermione's vicious attack.

"Agent Granger, enough!" a disembodied voice sounded across the ambiance of the south side docks of where her duel had taken place. Hermione drew back, leaving the bloody, battered wizard to writhe at her feet. The world around her began to dissolve, once more Hermione stood in the sterilised training centre of the Ministry of Magic.

The adrenalin which had surged through her at the height of combat shook her very core. Hermione stood panting, breath coming in slight, even gasps. Gazing towards the high box Hermione waited for words from her commander.

The door to the training centre slid open, omitting both Gawain Robards Head of the Auror Department and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.

"Miss Granger," Robards spoke to Hermione directly, his tone even though Hermione could see beyond his gaze that he was impressed. "Where did you learn such… unorthodox techniques?"

A light pink touched Hermione's cheeks.

"I train with agent Potter, sir," Hermione stated truthfully, "We often attend Muggle self-defence classes; it teaches us skills beyond mere wand use,"

"Really…?" Robards raised his eyebrows in surprise, "This is most becoming, since we have just witnessed the effectiveness of such techniques,"

Hermione nodded slightly, Kingsley merely smiled at the young woman.

"Very well, Miss Granger," so spoke Shacklebolt, his voice low, even. "You may retire; we shall grade your performance thusly." Hermione nodded, stooped to pick up her discarded wand, saluted and stepped past her commanders.

Once in the hallway beyond Hermione bit her lip. Had she been overzealous in her use of Martial Arts? This was, after all, her Auror exam. Could her resorting to Muggle duelling hinder her promotion?

Hermione thought back to her entrance into the alley, her foe had struck swift from the darkness, disarming her with the use of expelliarmus; most wizards would be helpless once they were disarmed. But Hermione's survival instincts had struck, her body reacting to attack almost of its own will.

Muggle duelling was frowned upon by many wizards, who thought it brutal, barbaric even, and they were right. Hermione herself, as a Muggle Born, had witnessed many duels, mostly at Muggle School or in flamboyant movies. Muggle duelling resulted in the use of anything, fists, feet, teeth, items, her study of urban combat with Harry had instructed her, not only in the means in which to defend herself, but had also opened her eyes to the sheer number of weapons available to her.

The wizard who had been instructed to test her had been totally useless against her new techniques; this was something which worried her.

A strident wolf whistle heightened her senses. Wheeling, determined to see who it was that would disrespect her so, Hermione turned wand raise, face wrought with fury. Her visage softened, her heart lightened as she saw who approached.

Harry James Potter, her mentor, coach and friend, leaned casually against the corridor wall, his eyes racking her form at the simple Muggle blouse and smart skirt she wore.

"How'd it go?" Harry questioned, drawing close to her, his bright green eyes framed by chic, expensive spectacles. Hermione flushed hotly.

"I… I had to resort to urban combat to beat Elise," Hermione stated truthfully.

"Bet that surprised him," Harry chuckled darkly, Hermione's face grew downcast, her use of urban combat was really for the Muggle world, in a city plagued by violence, aggression and danger, needing to understand the fundamentals of urban combat was paramount to her.

Harry, sighting the concern within the eyes of his friend, stepped forward, enveloped her in a single arm embrace.

"Fancy a drill?" Harry questioned, Hermione glanced towards him, eyes bright, thankful. Together they proceeded to the exit of the ministry. Punching their time clocks with their respective cards, both Harry and Hermione signed off for the day. Together, side by side, each apperated into the folds of Harry's home. The chic, ultra-modern apartment was decorated in a number of blues, whites and chrome glints. The house was massive, magically enhanced to incorporate a multi-facility gym and striking station. Harry, stripping off his works robes, unveiled a simple Tee and smart trousers.

"I'm gonna take a shower, fancy one before we drill?" Hermione's eyes glinted flirtatiously as she stepped towards the gym.

"You first handsome I'm gonna hit the bag," Harry fanned disappointment in his face.

"And here I was hoping you would scrub my back," Harry said playfully. Hermione blew him a light kiss.

"Be quick, I'm still high from that combat rush, need to work it off," with two fingers Harry saluted her before stepping into the hallway, up the stairs towards the grand wet room. Hermione, wrought with pent up aggression, stepped into the striking range. A number of sandbags hung from the ceiling, twelve in all, united with a striking doll and heavy bag. The doll was a top of the range, martial art training tool which not only possessed a number of lights for random striking positions, but also told you how many pounds per square inch each blow possessed. Hermione decided to ignore the doll and stepped towards the heavy bag.

Drawing herself into a fighting stance: Left leg forward, right leg back, shoulder width apart, weight angled on the balls of her feet, Hermione sized up the bag. Her hands were open, body relaxed, shuffling back and forth evenly on each leg. Hermione kept her chin down, eyes on the bag.

In swiftness Hermione lashed out with a curling roundhouse strike with her right leg. The bag arched on impact, swung on its chain at the force of the blow. Hermione steadied the bag, flexed her shoulders, clenched her fist. With a lean of her shoulder, Hermione struck the bag with a stiff jab, a cross followed. Her imagination played a common street fight scenario. In her mind's eye Hermione imagined a lout taking a full swing haymaker towards her. Drawing upon her cage defence, the name used by their instructor, Hermione shelled up, arms shielding her head, the elbow of her left arm lifted, formed a wedge shape. Hermione lunged into the danger zone, the striking zone of her foe, grabbed the bag in a full length side neck lock, lifted her right knee in a rising knee strike.

A number of other strikes followed, a round elbow strike, a leaping back kick, opened handed palm strike.

"God that's sexy," Harry's voice startled her, turning Hermione saw her friend lent casually against the door of the striking range, his wealth of dark hair moist, eyes fixed on Hermione. "I love a girl who can kick arse,"

Hermione's face grew flush with pleasure, cocking her hip she gestured for him to approach. Stepping with a swagger Harry stepped up to the heavy bag.

"Your back kick," Harry stated standing before the bag his body open as Hermione lent casually against the sparring doll. "You need to snap your hips as you turn,"

Harry erupted into the air in demonstration; his body turned 180 degrees, his breath issued in a grunt of power, his right leg lashed backwards. Hermione saw it, the snap of the hips, forcing more power to the strike. The bag rocked, its form crumpled, it fell from its chain with the force of the blow, Hermione blinked, impressed.

With a grunt of strength Harry lifted the heavy bag back into its frame, Hermione, leaning casually against the foundations of the punch doll, stole slight, furtive glances towards Harry's cute rear, the strength displayed in his arms, the tightness of his body. Turning Harry caught sight of Hermione's gaze, raised his eyebrows playfully.

"Enjoying the view?" Harry drawled, Hermione chuckled appreciatively.

"Oh yes," Hermione cooed, her hips cocked, a graze of finger obscuring her alluring smile. Harry rose to his full height, stepped towards Hermione, tunnelled his fingers through her wealth of chestnut dark tresses.

"I can't wait to get you in that cage," Hermione blew Harry a teasing kiss, her eyes glinting with passion.

"Come on then, big boy; let's see what you've got,"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two – Kumite**_

Harry stood encaged within the centre of his MMA Floor Cage. Heavy duty A-Grade steel surrounded all six sides of the octagon ring. Six feet tall, the cage loomed, the feel of thick, heavy canvas beneath his foot grips an acquainted, comfortable sensation. Flexing his fists, themselves covered by padded combat mitts, Harry waited for his opponent.

Hermione appeared at the entrance of the room adorned in black, Shock Absorber sports bra and grey, figure hugging shorts. Her form was shapely, curvaceous, herself blessed with a natural, womanly figure. Her mitts were of black and silver colouration, a gift of which Harry had pressed upon her the day they each had funded the erection of their cage.

Entering the ring Hermione sprang up and down on the balls of her feet, the tightness, the support of her sports bra making the gesture less alluring than what it would have been outside of sparing. Offering Harry a wink Hermione sealed the door closed with a length of chain, padlocked together, themselves prisoners to the cage.

Setting the key upon the outside frame of the cage, itself resting on a metal fixing set into the foundation of the ring, Hermione flexed her shoulders, shadow sparring empty air, her breath issuing in short, even bursts of power. Together, Harry and Hermione stood in the centre of the octagon, Hermione a few inches shorter than Harry failed to back down from his menacing gaze.

"I'm gonna bust you up," Harry stated, his words coming in a short, menacing hiss. Hermione stared back herself unfazed by the threat behind his words.

"Go for it," Hermione breathed darkly. Together they touched gloves and stepped back to even opposites of the octagon.

Harry stood; shoulders flexed, body open, hands raised in guard position, mouth shielded by a mouth piece. Hermione, back directed towards Harry, kissed the pad of her glove, pressed it to her head, her heart in unison, placed her gum shield into her mouth. Once this ritual was over Hermione turned, arms raised, posture guarded as she turned to face her foe.

Slowly Harry advanced. Together, hands raised, grips loose, both Harry and Hermione circled each other. Eyes locked, glanced across fit, athletic frames. Hermione saw the twitch, the lean of Harry's right shoulder, she saw the blow.

Harry thundered forward, right fist rising for a snap fist strike. Drawing upon her Karate knowledge Hermione blocked the blow to one side using a Chudan hiki uke: open handed hooking block. In the same motion Hermione clasped her grip onto Harry's wrist, pulling him forward, rising her leg in the same motion to execute a Mawashi Geri: roundhouse strike, striking Harry forcefully in the stomach.

Harry gasped, controlled, reflexive his already steeled abs protected him from the full, devastating force of the blow. Hermione danced away on with fleet steps, body lose, hair flying. Harry turned, faced her, face wrought with slight pain as he smiled.

Teasing, Hermione beckoned with her finger, no more than a twitch. The gesture was simple, mocking: _Bring It_. Harry had every intention to.

Stabilizing himself Harry stood guarded, drew in a quiet breath, he had made one mistake, he wasn't about to make another. Once more, man and woman circled, hands open in guard position, eyes locked. It was Hermione who attacked this time. Her body lowered, spring loaded, thrust her leg forward with the force of a lunging sidekick. With swiftness Harry's body leaned low, his body coiling, leg arched in an outside sweep. He struck at Hermione supporting knee, caving away her foundation as she crashed, controlled, to the canvas. Harry followed the bow with a snapping outside palm strike, attacking Hermione's left breast with the blow.

Hermione exclaimed in pain, rolled away from the tangle of body parts and erupted back to her feet. Harry flipped himself up with agility and technique as Hermione scowled at her foe.

"That was a low blow," Hermione snapped, rubbing the crest of her breast where Harry had struck. Harry raised his eye brows.

"Looks quite high to me," Harry mocked, returning to guard position. Hermione snorted.

"I've got speed humps, you know that, I think you just tried to cop a feel," Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Aww you figured me out," Harry teased offering his chin for a mocking, open strike, "You don't think I do this for the bruises do you?"

Hermione growled and lunged.

Their fight raged on for little more than an hour, each filled with attack, counter, or attempt at takedown. Finally the fight ended in the most obscure of circumstances. Harry, pinning Hermione against the steel of the cage, lifted her legs in an attempt at takedown.

At first Harry believed her actions to be a counter, a reflexive action to such a situation, but it seemed that it wasn't just he who was feeling the heat of such close encounters. Hermione's legs enveloped him, his head pushed into her neck. It was then that he felt it, the deep, intense grinding of sex on sex. Harry gasped as he drew back, Hermione's legs still locked about him, her eyes wrought with tease and emotion.

Both Harry and Hermione breathed; the feel of Harry's massive organ, aroused from the intimacy of combat, pressed tight into her aching sex, such stimulation.

The closeness, the sheer eroticism of battle had roused the lust within each of them. Their eyes locked, chests heaved and fell with stark, deep breathes.

Slowly, they drew away what little space remained.


End file.
